Eternally, Danny
by MrsDanversbinich
Summary: In which Rebecca is not dead, she simply left with another man.  Mrs Danvers reflects on her heartbreak at losing her mistress.


Dearest Rebecca,

I wish I could watch you sleeping. It's the small things I miss, like that; the things which anyone else would take for granted. You're so beautiful when you sleep, you have no idea how peaceful you look, and there's always the tiniest smile on your lips, as though you know I'm watching you. I miss how warm you are when you reach for me in the morning, and how you trust me to prevent you being cold when the evenings have drawn in. I don't suppose you've ever noticed how well we fit together – although I suppose too that you have found that with someone else now. I am not writing this letter to make you feel guilty, and in fact I am quite sure that I shall never allow you to see it, if you ever return here, I do not think you will; when I am gone, I am sure that you will allow solicitors to deal with my possessions and suchlike, and then you shall sell the flat without ever returning. I know that you certainly took with you everything you needed when you left.

I miss the most insignificant things, like cooking with you. You would pretend to be completely incapable, until I had to take your hands and guide them to mix dough for bread, or whatever it was that we were making. Then, whilst the food was cooking, you would sit at the table and drink water from a wine glass, in that typical, extravagant way of yours. And you would laugh at me, washing up. You'd say, 'come, Danny, sit. We can wash those later, or perhaps the fairies will wash them for us!". And then we would sit together and wait, you would insist that I brushed your hair in case the cooking had mussed it. Do you remember the time we got distracted watching boats on the Thames from the window, and forgot about the cake we were baking? We had to sleep with the windows open for days to rid the flat of the smell of smoke. You probably don't remember. You used to tell me so often that I cared too much, that I was too interested in you. I suppose you were trying to prepare me for this. I ought to have seen.

You used to paint when you were younger, do you remember that? It was your way of escaping from whatever was troubling you. Such beautiful paintings for someone so young. When you had argued with your parents, you would run out of the room instantly, not in a passion as they supposed, but to find some water, and I would know instantly to retrieve your paints. You would spend hours at it, almost feverish, producing one painting after another, sliding the tip of your brush into your mouth as you surveyed your work. One you slipped the wrong end between your lips, staining them an unearthly blue, and you panicked. You were frightened that you might die, but it did not concern you that you had not made peace with your parents, only that you would be leaving me alone. When I told you that it would simply taste unpleasant, nothing more, you held me tightly, almost crying, poor love, and told me that you did not want to be without me, ever. You would want me at your side for ever. For ever. It is strange how short for ever seems to someone young, or possibly how little they believe their life will change. They do not realise that feelings change, that hearts are broken, or mended, that men, family, get in the way.

I told myself that I would not be bitter or resentful, so please ignore that previous sentence, darling Rebecca. I do not begrudge you the happiness you have found, and I understand why you have gone. Your old life and your new life are so different that you must leave one behind entirely before you begin the new one. I am part of the old life, such an important part – for although I do not think of myself as important, I know your story and many things you may wish to conceal – that I must be erased completely, lest I endanger this new life. I accept that. Your happiness is of the very greatest importance to me, so if you must move on without me, I will not ever attempt to stand in your way. I would sooner try to part the sea than ruin your happiness.

I always wondered why you chose me. We were probably the most unlikely pair that there had ever been, but somehow we were perfect for each other. Most girls your age had much younger, more handsome maids, but you seemed content with me. Sometimes I would lie awake wondering why you wanted me, what you could possibly see in me, and for a long time I didn't understand. Then, finally, I understood. You found me unattractive. So unattractive that you knew I would never be taken away from you by any man – you could keep me by your side until such time when you had tired of me, without ever having to worry about competition for me. And as I aged, as I feared how you would see me, I never once considered that you would prefer that I changed, showed my age, because it drew attention to you, how beautiful you were, are. It soothed your fears, I realise now, because you could not fail to look beautiful beside me.

Oh sweet Rebecca, please do not see this letter as an accusation, for it is not. We both know that every word is the truth. I was simply something for you to be compared to, someone to keep you warm, someone to show you unconditional love and support until you could return to your family, or someone new, someone who would allowed you to be as cruel as you liked, and always show you forgiveness at afterwards. I know that I ought not to have become so attached to you, but that is my cross to bear. I will never, ever forget you, Rebecca my love, and I will always belong to you.

Eternally,

Danny


End file.
